Fear ye foes who kill for hire?
Will ye to your homes retire?
Look behind you ! they're afire,
And, before you, see

Who have done it !— From the vale
On they come ! — and will ye quail? —
Leaden rain and leaden hail
Let their welcome be !

In the God of battles trust !
Die we may,— and die we must;
But oh, where can dust to dust
Be consigned so well,
As where Heaven its dews shall shed
On the martyred patriot's bed,
And the rocks shall raise their head
Of his deeds to tell !